The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  It made sense. Raime’s wisdom always seemed to make sense. That worried him at times. “It will still not be easy. The Ur are formidable. They have thwarted us in the past.”

  A dark, full-throated laughter seemed to rumble up from Raime’s chest. “It will be easy. I have assurances that we will find less resistance than you think.”

  “Assurances? What sort of assurances? You think you can wait to tell me these things?” Richard grew angry. He tried to soothe himself. He knew it was not wise to show anger at Raime.

  “Do not worry about them now.” The words were a command. “Your worry is with your people, your kings.” He spoke the title mockingly. “Robden must be watched. He has a soft spot for Locken.”

  Richard knew the man too well and knew what Raime could not. “He will not challenge me. He respects the authority that placed him in power. He would not risk losing that.” It reassured him to know something Raime did not.

  “I am not so sure. You will watch.”

  This conversation with Raime had drained him. He grew tired of trying to fight the man, grew tired of struggling to keep his authority. He lost a foothold with every meeting. Worse, though, was that he couldn’t even remember why he wanted to attack Thealon, or why he wanted the Tower. It had seemed so important once, so logical, when Raime had first come to him offering his services. The balance was much different now.

  His head hurt thinking of it, and he turned toward other matters as Raime left. No longer an advisor, now he rarely bothered letting Richard make decisions. A part of him knew he needed to be free of him, but could he? What power did Raime now wield?

  Smoke from the fire drifted lazily toward the top of the tent, and he struggled to keep his mind clear. His head was as hazy as the smoke, making him wonder how Raime influenced him even here, but soon he forgot what he had feared.

  Allay followed Mendi up the wide ramp leading from the first terrace to the second. She’d found him as he had raced back into the city from the mines, and asked him to follow, claiming that she had something for him to see, but had been unwilling to share what. No matter how hard he pressed, he wasn't able to get Mendi to reveal anything more than she had. Her answer remained the same: Wait.

  When they stopped at the gate into the second terrace, the only entrance along the terrace’s massive wall, he could only stare. It was the first time he had approached the Denraen level from this direction, and convenient that he was coming now, especially after what he’d seen in the mines beneath the city. The Denraen needed to know. It was strange that it took this timely incident for him to actually visit the second terrace, rather than observe it from atop the terrace wall. His visits on the wall with Stohn seemed ages ago now.

  Allay had struggled to even get Stohn to talk with him since their last conversation after class, when they’d spoken of their fathers. Had Allay said—or done—something to offend him?

  Mendi said something to the guard, who nodded, opened the gate, and waved them in.

  Once inside, Allay looked around. Reaching the barracks was almost as much a challenge as getting into the Magi palace. From above, he’d seen the way the practice yard stretched throughout most of this level, leaving rows of buildings tucked along the stone face. All he saw from here was the row of barracks.

  Mendi hurried along a road set between the buildings. She seemed to know where she was going.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Don't worry about it, Allay.”

  “You said this was how you discovered your sources. I just didn't expect you to have come into the barracks itself.”

  Mendi glanced back at him. “The Denraen only allow certain people into the barracks. You should feel honored that they are allowing you.”

  For some reason, Allay didn't feel particularly honored. He felt more concerned than anything. What was Mendi bringing him into?

  They turned a corner and reached another building, no more distinct than any of the others around it. Mendi stopped in front of the door and rapped her fist against the deeply stained wood. She clasped her hands behind her back as she waited.

  “What is this?” Allay asked.

  Mendi shook her head.

  He didn't get the chance to ask her again. The door opened, and a scarred face peeked out.

  Allay gasped. It was General Endric.

  He had seen the general during the latter half of their travels to the city, after the Deshmahne attack. That had been after they had joined Thomasen and the others from Chrysia. Since coming to the city, he hadn't seen the general, other than from above. At least he could share with Endric what he’d seen.

  “General Endric?”

  The general stood with the door open, waving him in.

  Allay glanced to Mendi, but she made a point of not meeting his gaze.

  What was he missing here? There was something going on that he didn't understand, but what was it? Why bring him to Endric… and why would Endric be willing to meet with him?

  The door closed behind them, and Endric made his way to a desk that was more utilitarian than anything else, stacks of paper and books covering its surface. Before sitting, he tried to clear some space and motioned for Allay and Mendi to sit in the chairs opposite. A massive map was mounted on the wall behind him. Pins were placed throughout both the north and the south. Allay suspected they represented locations of Denraen troops. He was not surprised to learn the Denraen patrolled throughout all the known lands. He was surprised to note a set of pins even in Gomald. They rarely saw the Denraen there.

  “What is this? Why have you brought me here?”

  “Prince Lansington. Thank you for taking the time out of your training to meet with me.”

  Allay glanced from General Endric to Mendi. “The timing is fortuitous. I saw Deshmahne—”

  “We know the Deshmahne are in the city.”

  “It’s not only the city. I followed”—he cut off, wondering what Mendi would think of the fact that he’d followed Michael Comity into the tunnels—“Michael Comity into the old mines. I saw Deshmahne there.” Allay ignored Mendi’s piercing stare.

  “Deshmahne in the mines?”

  Allay nodded. “There was some sort of storeroom. I thought the Denraen should investigate.”

  Endric sighed. “Is that their play?” He asked it mostly to himself. “Dangerous, especially after the last time.” With a shake, he looked from Allay to Mendi. “I’ll have the Denraen investigate. The mines should have been protected.”

  “Why were they closed?”

  Endric’s eyes narrowed. “Another attack, one from long ago and tied to a betrayal.” Endric sighed. “They won’t find what they seek there. I have ensured that much.”

  “The city has been attacked before?”

  “There have been other attacks on Vasha. People view it as nearly as close to the gods as Thealon, and for good reason.”

  “The Deshmahne?” Allay asked.

  Endric nodded. “They had help, but their attempt failed. Don’t worry about the Deshmahne succeeding. I have plans in motion to stop them.”

  Allay couldn’t help but notice that Endric appeared troubled. “I could help—”

  “You are a delegate. And a prince. You are not here to fight the Deshmahne, and that’s not why I asked you to come.”

  Allay should feel relieved that Endric would investigate, but he still felt uncomfortable about what he had seen. “Why then?”

  “What do you know of your father's plans from before you left Gomald?”

  Allay shot Mendi a hard look. Then he turned his attention to the general. “I'm sorry, General Endric, but you know that I can't answer that. Doing so would be a betrayal of my people.”

  Endric gave him a withering look, and Allay resisted the urge to shrink back from it.

  “Let me tell you what I know,” the general said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Your father has begun moving troops to Bastiin. He has each of the regional kings supplying him with troops. Were you
aware that he intended war?”

  Allay made a point of not looking over to Mendi. She had told him much the same, and if he hadn’t known before how she had acquired her information, he did now.

  “I don't know what my father plans, if that's what you're after. My father and I aren't particularly close. Most of the time, I think he would be perfectly satisfied if I disappeared.”

  Endric chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He glanced behind him, as if searching for locations on the map for confirmation, before turning his attention back to Allay. “I often felt the same way about my father.”

  “Did it ever change?” Allay asked.

  He laughed again. “In a sense.”

  “What changed it?”

  “When I defeated him. It’s when I became general.”

  Allay started to smile but realized the general wasn't making a joke. “I don't think there will be a transition in leadership based on me defeating my father.”

  Endric met his gaze for a moment. “No, I suppose not. As much as that might make it easier for us.”

  “That can't be the only reason you've summoned me here, can it? Why did you have Mendi bring me here?”

  Endric sighed and shuffled through some of the papers on his desk. When he reached one that he searched for, he studied it for a moment before sliding it over to Allay. “I'm sorry.”

  Allay frowned, but took the proffered page and scanned the contents. It seemed to be a report out of Gom Aaldia. While he wasn't entirely surprised that Endric would have such detailed report of the movements within Gom Aaldia, he was surprised Endric shared that intelligence with him.

  Was that what he wanted Allay to know? Did Endric seek to show him how much he knew about Gom Aaldia?

  A name on the report caught his attention, and all the worry about what the Deshmahne were after in the mines and beneath the city disappeared.

  Theodror.

  He and his brother weren't close. His brother was next in line to the throne, and Allay was never meant to do anything other than serve the kingdom. But they were close enough for him to care about his brother, to want to see him succeed.

  Tears welled in his eyes and he swallowed.

  Allay looked up from the page and shook his head.

  Mendi looked at him with compassion gleaming in her eyes.

  “This can't be right,” he said.

  “I'm afraid it is, Prince Lansington. I'm sorry you must learn this way, but I wasn’t sure when the Magi would learn this news. My sources are a bit more reliable than theirs, especially in Gomald.”

  “When? How?”

  “I don't have answers to either of those questions. The details are sparse. All I know is that there was some sort of incursion on the palace. Your brother was left behind when your father started north. He was attacked and killed.”

  Allay turned and stared at the page. “This means—”

  “It means you are next in line,” Mendi said.

  Allay blinked and looked up at his friend, uncertain what to say.

  That was exactly what it meant.

  He didn't want to be next in line to rule, had never planned on it, but if his brother was gone…

  “I need to return.”

  “I think the Magi intend for all of the delegates to return home. When you do, you will travel with an advisor. I would know what you intend.” Endric leaned forward, fixing him with the same intense gaze that he’d worn when Allay first arrived. “What is your plan with the Deshmahne?”

  “The Deshmahne?” he asked dumbly.

  “They have grown in strength—and in numbers. They intend to attack. If they coordinate with Gom Aaldia, we could be facing a war unlike anything we have faced in generations.”

  “I…” Allay struggled with the words. All he could see were the two that mattered now. Theodror dead.

  “More than ever, we need to maintain the peace. The south will pose more of a challenge, but we can still hold the north. Can you work with the Thealon and Rondalin delegates?”

  Allay didn't know what else to say. He stared at the page again, his mind numb. Theodror was gone. Allay was next in line for the throne. And his father readied for war.

  Mendi reached over and grabbed his hand.

  Allay took her fingers and entwined them in his, nodding in response to Endric’s question. They would have to return, and he would find a way to work with Comity—and Longtree, if he could. For now, he would sit with Mendi, hold her hand, and feel connected to her.

  At least here, there would be no shame in his holding a slave's hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As Allay turned a corner within the palace, searching for someone to discuss what had happened to his brother, he saw one of the Magi coming toward him. It was an older man with longer gray hair, and a dark gray cloak that hung to the ground. Allay had not seen this man before. He moved through the hallway as though he had a purpose. Allay stepped to the side, willing to give him space.

  The Mage stopped in front of Allay.

  He studied Allay, his brow knitted slightly, mouth pressed in a tight frown. His eyes had an intensity to them, as he weighed and measured Allay, before releasing him.

  “You are Prince Lansington.”

  Allay could only nod.

  “Good. You will come with me.”

  The Mage strode down the hall, and Allay had no choice but to follow. How could you refuse one of the Magi?

  At the end of the hall, the Mage stepped into a doorway, and Allay followed him, glancing back. Were there others delegates similarly summoned? Or had they learned of Theodror and understood that he had to leave the city? That made the most sense of anything.

  The Mage led him down a series of steps, down another hall, and then, finally, up another flight of stairs. Allay was thoroughly confused. He was impressed by the tapestries hanging along walls, the decoration of it all, and the depiction of the gods he never saw in Gom Aaldia.

  The Mage stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. He waited, and Allay realized he intended him to follow.

  Entering the room, Allay hesitated, looking around. The room was well appointed. A massive desk took up one wall. Chairs were arranged as if a meeting had been taking place. There was a hearth, but no fire burned. Rows of books lined a shelf. A thick plush rug took up the rest of the room. Even here, the smooth walls drew his attention, and he was again impressed with the skill the Magi had once used to construct the palace.

  The door closed behind them and the Mage turned to him. “Sit,” he said.

  “You should know I need to leave Vasha.”

  The Mage studied him. “You heard of your brother, then.”

  “You knew?”

  “I am sorry for what happened.” Allay believed he meant it, but it didn’t change that he needed to return to Gom Aaldia. “I only discovered recently. It places you next in line. That gives you a greater voice than most of the other delegates.” He paused. “Speaking of which, how does your training progress?”

  Allay looked up at him. The Mage paced, making a circle around the chairs before moving behind him. “You mean my time with the instructors who teach us your history?”

  “Is that all you think this is about?” the Mage asked.

  Allay shook his head. “I don't know why you chose the delegates you did. I suspect it has something to do with”—he debated whether to mention the Deshmahne outright before choosing not to—“the trouble in the south. But I have a hard time seeing how we delegates will have much of an impact. Especially considering how so many seem biased.”

  “Biased?”

  Allay took a deep breath and nodded. “Toward the Deshmahne.”

  He hesitated speaking so freely, but something told him the Mage wanted that from him.

  “Interesting insight you have, Prince Lansington. What makes you think that the other delegates will not be able to work together?”

  How much did he risk saying to the Mage? Would he offend him by telling him
that he didn't think the delegates would function the way they hoped? Would that matter to the Magi?

  “I've been trying to figure out why you brought us here. I don't deny it is an honor to be selected. I think even those in Coamdon and Liispal, places where the Magi don't have the same support that they once did, still consider it an honor.” Why was he speaking so freely with this Mage? Mendi would be angry if she knew what he was doing. She had a deep and profound respect for the Magi, to the point where she wouldn't take very well the idea of anyone speaking poorly about them.

  “You ask insightful questions. They are ones that even those on the Council aren't certain we have answers to. We recognize the need to regain our influence, which has waned of late.”

  Allay found himself surprised at the Mage's honesty. “Then why come choosing delegates?”

  “There was a time when the Magi had greater influence in the lands. We helped to ensure that peace remained. That is the core of Urmahne teaching.”

  “I have studied the faith with the other delegates,” Allay said.

  “Yes. That was another task we thought necessary for the delegates. Many have forgotten the teachings of the Urmahne. I can see that you have not Prince Lansington. You were to be the first delegates, and we intended to bring others.”

  “Is this all about the Deshmahne?”

  The Mage shook his head. “Once, I would have said it was all about the Deshmahne. They are a threat that we have not seen before.”

  Allay sat tense, gripping the armrest of the chair. “Once?”

  “There are other threats now.”

  If Allay expected the Mage to explain that in greater detail, he didn't.

  “Why bring me here?” he asked the Mage.

  “Because I suspect you have a role the others do not.”

  Allay forced himself to keep his gaze on the Mage. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He felt a bead of sweat on his brow, but he refused to wipe it. Would he finally get answers?